


i wanna blame the whole damn universe

by armyofbees



Series: over time without a break [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Depression, Dissociation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LATER, Laf is probably gonna end up making Bad Decisions, M/M, Metaphors, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, but not in this one, even more references to jeremy messersmith, jumping on that bandwagon let's go, like a tiny bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10939641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: They tape a smile to their face, but tape doesn’t hold for very long, and it comes off when they open their mouth. By second period, they’re in the bathroom, leaning towards the mirror and trying to see if they can stretch their mouth. Trying to see if they can hold it that way.--Lafayette is so, so angry, but they're far too tired to do anything about it. Their body is lead, but their blood is fire.





	i wanna blame the whole damn universe

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Laf thinks a little bit about suicide, so be warned. If you've read the rest of the series, you know the deal. My priorities are all over the place recently, and I've been super busy, but I managed to crank this out, so here. The title is from [It's Only Dancing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYxVQPYdwyg) by Jeremy Messersmith. Feel free to come yell at me on Tumblr @ 2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas, and let me know if I forgot to tag something. As always, enjoy.

Lafayette groans as the light hits their eyes. Sound comes with it—a loud, blaring, poppy song. They know all the lyrics, remember a summer day spent screaming along. They hate it. They roll over and press their face into the pillow, because if they just ignore it, it’ll go away eventually. Because if they just go back to sleep, they can stay in bed all day. Because if they just pretend not to exist, that fantasy might actually come true.

The song is still blaring but so is their phone, now. They reach behind themself and feel around for it, snatching it from their nightstand and wincing when they bring it around to their face. It’s too bright.

Their lock screen has been flooded with texts from Hercules. Herc, the light of their life. Herc, the reason they get up in the morning (when they do). Herc, the only reason they show up at that Godforsaken prison called high school.

Herc’s texting about how they have an English test today, and he needs encouragement. He’s texting about how Laf should have waffles for breakfast this morning, because they’re their favorite. He’s texting about how John and Alex are still disgustingly adorable. He’s texting about how summer is almost here.

Laf feels themself smile. Hercules, who knows exactly what they need, when they need it. Hercules, who knows them so well that he knows to mention waffles just to get Laf up in the morning.

God bless Hercules Mulligan.

The pop song is still blaring, but Laf doesn’t care so much now that they’ve sandwiched their face between a pillow and the bed, and they’re still reading through Herc’s texts, so they’re content.

They shoot back a quick _thank you_ before contemplating actually getting up. They heave a sigh, press the pillow harder against their head. The pressure helps drown out the music, the light, the entire world. Today’s not worth it, not really. Because it would just be going through the motions. Because it would all be for nothing. Because it’s not like today matters, anyway.

It’s funny how none of this matters, not really. It’s funny how their life’s a shard of porcelain, one tiny piece in a huge mosaic, so easily shattered. It’s funny how they don’t matter.

In the grand scheme of things, where are they, really? Certainly nowhere important. Alex is going to go on to do great things, they know that. He’ll be running the world by the time he’s out of college. John is going to create fucking _masterpieces._ Hell, he’ll probably start a band. Hercules, their sunshine boy, is going to go so far. They know how talented he is, they know how passionate he is, they know how happy he’ll be.

Where does that leave them?

High school, this constant prison, this useless daily ritual, isn’t helping. It’s not _expanding their horizons,_ or whatever bullshit it tries to sell on the wrapping. It’s only holding them back. Every day they spend in there feels like a day wasted out here. Every moment wasted doing pointless, futureless assignments is another moment they could be _doing something,_ _discovering something, discovering themself._

Their phone rings. “Hercules Mulligan,” they say as they answer.

“Damn, Laf, that’s loud,” Hercules shouts.

Laf sighs and flops over to shut off the music. “Better?” they ask, and don’t move from where they landed.

“Much. You out of bed yet?”

Laf lets out a deprecating huff of laughter. “Take a guess, hon.”

“C’mon, Laf,” Herc pleads. “I need your moral support. We need to counterbalance Alex and John’s stupidity. Please?” Laf sighs again. “For me?”

Laf’s entire body is lead as they swing their legs over the side of their bed. They sit up, pulling their blankets with them. “Can I at least wear pajamas?”

“Yes,” Herc says happily. “And you can sleep on me in calc. But for now, get yourself some waffles.”

“Yeah, yeah,” they say, and wave their hand even though he can’t see them. “I will see you at school.”

“See you. Today’ll be great!” Hercules hangs up.

Laf’s body is still lead. The waffles turn to metal in their mouth, and they can’t bring themself to finish breakfast.

They brace themself over the sink, and they’re so heavy, too heavy for them to hold themself up. They fall against the counter, and think dully that they’ll have a nice bruise for a few days. They don’t move for a while, because what’s the point? They zone out for a while, and they feel separate from their body.

They only stir when Martha calls for them, because school is starting in a few minutes, and they should really get going.

They’re half an hour late when they finally arrive, but they can’t find it in themself to care. They tape a smile to their face, but tape doesn’t hold for very long, and it comes off when they open their mouth. By second period, they’re in the bathroom, leaning towards the mirror and trying to see if they can stretch their mouth. Trying to see if they can hold it that way. It feels unnatural. It feels fake.

No matter what they do, they can’t seem to get it to stick, and when the bell rings, they’re crying. They’re not sad. They don’t remember what sadness is like, anymore, just like they’re not sure how happiness is supposed to feel. No, they’re not sad. They’re frustrated—they’re _angry._

Angry at school, angry at themself, angry at life. Angry that they’re trapped in this place that controls their every second. Angry that they can’t just be _them,_ because of this place and its judgement and its limits. Angry that they’re _trapped._

But they don’t have to be, do they? Because they’re only trapped as long as they stay here, and it’s not like _any of this matters, anyway._

“No,” they whisper to themself, and pull out their phone. They spend a while rereading Herc’s texts. _English test. Alex and John. Summer._ “I’m good. I am good.” And they force themself back out into the hallway.

Their next block passes achingly slowly, and they want to scream. They want to burst. They want to do something stupid, like get into a fight. Their heart is beating out of their chest when the bell rings, but Herc is waiting for them when they get out, so it’s worth it. Sort of.

“You good?” he asks when he sees them, and they manage a shrug.

“I am making it,” they answer, and try out their smile. It’s not quite there, not yet. Their fingers itch to _hurt_ something.

“What are we doing for lunch?” Herc asks, leading the way down the hallway.

“The usual, I thought,” they reply.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “I thought maybe changing it up a bit would be nice, though. You know?”

They shrug again and don’t drag their feet. Their body is lead, but it feels like it’s softening a little. They think it might be Hercules. They think it’s probably the fire in their veins. “I suppose John has been arguing with that Lee guy a lot.”

“Yeah,” Herc agrees, halting at his classroom. “And Alex backs him up, every time.” He punches Laf’s shoulder lightly. “I need you to help me corral them, man. Herding cats, right?”

Laf’s smile feels a bit more real this time. They rub their shoulder sheepishly, but their grip is too tight, and their fingers just want to curl into fists. They can feel their smile fall, and they nod sharply. “Right. I think I get that reference?”

“I’ll show you that commercial again later,” Herc says, and nods towards his classroom. “See you next block. You’re gonna do great!”

Laf nods again, and Herc ducks into his classroom. Laf’s body is still buzzing with the urge to fight, but they try to remember the way Herc’s smile looks in the summer, and it’s okay for a while.

The group decides to eat lunch in the courtyard, by unanimous agreement from Herc, Eliza, Angelica, and Peggy. Laf wants to stay in their regular place, wants to see the way Lee’s face looks after they’ve landed a few blows. Herc gives them an odd look when they vote to stay, but they ignore him.

The seven of them sit in a circle on the grass, with a space between Eliza and Alex. Nobody mentions it, but they all know who it’s for. Laf closes their eyes and thinks that they’ll probably be next. Thinks that they’ll leave a space for them, that Hercules and John will feel the emptiness beside them. Thinks that they shouldn’t be next, but they don’t really know if they can help it. Thinks that they should go down fighting.

“You gonna eat anything?” Herc asks, nudging them and snapping them out of their stupor.

They blink quickly. “Oh, yes, of course.” They didn’t pack a lunch that morning.

“Did you forget a lunch again?” Herc prompts, smiling slightly.

Laf twitches, tries to ignore the words that were put in their mouth. They don’t need Herc speaking for them—they can manage that much themself. “Yes.”

“You can have mine,” John offers, but Alex bats his proffered hand away.

“No, you can’t. Eat your fucking food, Laurens.” Alex sends him a glare that Laf knows is only angry out of concern. Out of fear. Alex thinks John’s going to be next. Laf wonders if they should start a betting pool.

 _That’s fucked up,_ Laf thinks, and laughs inwardly. _Yes, but we’re all all kinds of fucked up._

“I will not take your food, John,” Laf says, raising their chin with dignity. “I am not your charity case. I am not any of your—” they wave their hand vaguely “—responsibility. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Herc says patiently, and they can feel something in them coil suddenly. It feels like the flame that’s been growing all day. It feels like they’re stretched tight. It feels like they’re ready to snap.

“No, Hercules,” they say, cutting off whatever he was going to say next. “No, you do not know, because you treat me like I am a fucking child, like I need protecting. Like I need your protection, which I do not.” They shoot a glare around the circle. “I am capable. I can manage myself, and I do not need you or _them—”_ they spit the word like it’s poison, pointing furiously at the school “—to try to do it for me.”

Laf stands and storms off, and they can hear Herc muttering something behind them, but they really don’t care. They _want_ to care, but they either can’t bring themself to, or they force themself not to. They can’t turn back now—they were right. Besides, the fire feels so nice under their skin. It’s flaring. They don’t need anyone to run their life, except themself.

They leave through the front doors, and nobody tries to stop them. They want to go looking for a fight, but their limbs feel too heavy again, and they spend the rest of the day in a nearby park, reading an obscure French mystery novel. Eventually, their eyes unfocus, and they can’t find the energy to refocus them. So they lay on the park bench and don’t move, don’t even blink. Their eyes are burning but they don’t care. It doesn’t change anything in the end, after all.

Their body is made of lead.


End file.
